


Friday Game Night

by SadinaSaphrite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: And as an LA kid you KNOW he has to be a Lakers fan, Gabe is canonically a sports guy, Jack thinks too much, M/M, Mild Language, Sad Super Soldiers sit on a couch and are dumb and don't talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12057942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadinaSaphrite/pseuds/SadinaSaphrite
Summary: It was their Friday night ritual. Jack would set up the TV with the most recent Lakers game and Gabe would bring whatever snacks and drinks they were in the mood for. Gabe would yell at the screen and Jack usually brought something else to work on, only half paying attention to the game, and being Strike Commander didn’t give him enough free time for even a few hours every Friday night.In which two Super Soldiers watch basketball and don't talk about their feelings.





	Friday Game Night

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this art](http://herearecollembolas.tumblr.com/post/165091374506/fun-fact-ive-never-saw-a-single-basketball), or at least one panel of it. I just wanted to write some R76 that wasn't everyone yelling at each other.

“Oh, come on! How could he miss that? How could anyone miss a free throw? It’s literally called a free throw, that means it should be an easy free point! God, Warrens is the worst.”

“I’m gonna take this opportunity to remind you that you are not, nor have you ever, been a professional basketball player. You’d miss some free throws, too.”  
It was their Friday night ritual. Jack would set up the TV with the most recent Lakers game and Gabe would bring whatever snacks and drinks they were in the mood for. Gabe would yell at the screen and Jack usually brought something else to work on, only half paying attention to the game, and being Strike Commander didn’t give him enough free time for even a few hours every Friday night. 

“Nope. I’d make every one. I’d have the best goddamn free throw stats of all time.”

Jack didn’t look up from his tablet, sitting sideways on the couch, back against the armrest and feet resting in Gabe’s lap. “Again, I remind you that you do not play professional basketball.”

Gabe shot him a grin and grabbed the chip bowl, balancing it on Jack’s ankles. “Not yet. That’ll be my next job, after this whole ‘maintaining world peace’ thing blows over. Goddammit, and now we’ve lost the ball. I wasn’t watching, who fucked that up?”

“If I say Warrens, will you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“It was Warrens.”

“Fuck that guy.”

Jack kept his eyes on his tablet, but smiled. He loved game night. It had started back in their SEP days, when Gabe would try and watch games on his crappy old phone in the barracks. Gabe had been a dedicated LA Lakers fan ever since he was a kid, and a little thing like being pumped full of unknown drugs wasn’t going to stop him from following his team. It had been a godsend for Jack, truth be told. Some form of stability in that confusing and hectic part of their lives. One or both of them would be exhausted or sick or feel like they were dying, like this was finally the round of shots that would push their body too far, but without fail they’d both curl up on one of the cots, watching tiny yellow-clad figures dribble an even tinier ball around on Gabe’s shitty old phone. 

They’d continued the habit into the Omnic Crisis, passing the time on a transport by watching a game or highlights on Gabe’s newly upgraded phone, spending time between missions in the common room and throwing on whatever game was available, Lakers or not. There had been more nights than Jack could count where they had ended up on a couch, injured and exhausted, and fell asleep together to the familiar sounds of basketball commentary. It had only been in the last few years that they’d both been so busy that the tradition had been in danger of disappearing. Jack’s promotion to Strike Commander left him with no free time whatsoever, and Gabe wasn’t fairing much better with Blackwatch sucking up all his time.

A whole season without watching a game had passed before Jack proposed the idea of a set time for a game night. A few hours, just the two of them, with the game, food, a few beers, and no discussing work. Gabe had jumped on the idea with an enthusiasm that Jack suspected was thinly veiled desperation and gratitude. 

“Warrens is the worst thing to happen to this team,” Gabe snorted, reaching for his beer.

“You said that about Anderson.”

“That was before they recruited Warrens. Hey, hold still! You’re gonna spill my chips!”

“Just getting comfy,” Jack said, slouching further down into the couch, legs sprawling over Gabe’s lap. 

“Yeah, well don’t get too comfortable. If we go into overtime I’m liable to dump these chips all over you,” Gabe grumbled.

“So long as it’s just the chips and not the salsa,” Jack reached for his own beer. Alcohol did wonders for sorting through UN reports.

If Jack was honest with himself he’d admit that he really didn’t even like basketball. He didn’t usually get invested in the games, though he was always sure to give Gabe some guff whenever the Lakers played the Indiana Pacers. It was Gabe’s company he was after. They were drifting apart, he could feel it, and game night was his last ditch effort to save this…whatever it was they had. Over the past few months, they’d both been busy enough that even their Friday nights hadn’t been safe, only managing one game night every few weeks. Last week Jack had a meeting with Director Petras that dragged on almost all night, and the week before Gabe left ten minutes into the game after an urgent message from McCree regarding a Blackwatch mission. Jack hadn’t even been aware there _were_ any active Blackwatch missions.

Something was driving a wedge between them. They never talked anymore, and when they did, they were both frequently left angry and frustrated. They’d even devolved into actual fighting a few times. Not with fists, just words, but…Jack was worried that would come, too. Maybe he was just delaying the inevitable.

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes, and Gabe glanced over.

“…Hey, Jack. You’re supposed to be relaxing. Put the tablet up. Have a chip,” There was concern in Gabe’s dark eyes as he held out the chip bowl.

“Maybe you’re right,” Jack sighed again and turned the tablet off, setting it on the coffee table. He ignored the chip bowl, electing for another swig of beer instead. 

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Gabe turned back toward the screen, but Jack could see Gabe still watching him from the corner of his eye. “You work too hard, you know that?”

“I could say the same about you.” Jack replied. Damn, did he really look so strung out that Gabe was worrying about him?

“I work just the right amount, thank you. You’re the one who looks like he’s running on empty. You need a break. Take a week off. Get a massage.” To punctuate his words, Gabe began massaging one of Jack’s sock-clad feet.

“Hah. The week I take for vacation will be the week they try to push every agenda I’ve been fighting against. I can’t trust anyone else to cover for me.” He sighed, sinking further into the couch. Why’d he leave his socks on? This would be way better with his socks off. Jack tried to think of a way to get his socks off without being obvious.

“You’re doing it again,” Gabe said. “Thinking you have to save the world alone. You don’t have to be an army of one. You know that you’ve got a literal army of people ready to support you, right? You’re not _that_ important that you can’t take a single personal day, you arrogant prick.” 

Was that real bitterness in Gabe’s voice, or was it good natured teasing? Or was Jack just imagining it, seeing distrust and resentment that wasn’t there? Ana would know what to do. Ana would be able to handle the politicians better than he could, too. But Ana was gone, and everything was starting to fall apart without her.

“Hey,” Gabe said after a few minutes had passed in silence, apart from the game. “You still with me, Jackie?”

“Mm,” he said eloquently, shoving down the familiar ache of loss. “We’re breaking our rule.”

“Talking about work.”

“Talking about work,” Jack confirmed. They fell silent again for a while, watching the game while Gabe rubbed his feet. It should have been the other way around, Jack mused. Gabe was the one who was down on the ground, running missions in person with the rest of Blackwatch. Jack was stuck in a chair battling politicians with a pen and words. Sometimes he was cleaning up Gabe’s messes from said missions. It’d be easier to deal with his problems on the end of a gun. Things were simpler during the Crisis. Shoot the Omnics, stop the war, Gabe and Ana at his side. How did everything get so complicated? How did they get so complicated?

“Hey, looks like your man Warrens scored a three-pointer,” Jack said, trying to pull himself out of his melancholy thoughts.

“Goddammit. Lucky shot.”

The buzzer sounded, ending the fourth quarter.

“Lucky shot that won the game.”

“Lucky-ass son of a bitch.”

Jack laughed, but made no move to get up. “Playoffs are coming up. Season’s going to end soon. You know what that means.”

Gabe groaned and let go of Jack’s feet to put his face in his hands. “No. No, we need to find something else to watch in the off season. Anything else.”

Jack poked Gabe in the ribs with a foot. “NASCAR time!”

“I am _not_ going to watch another summer of your dumbass left turn racing sport.”

“Yes, you are. And you like the crashes, don’t lie. Only place you can still see a good car crash. And actual tires on the actual ground. Real driving.” 

“You sure like driving a lot for someone who gets driven everywhere. I could watch a ten minute video of a crash montage and be done for the year.” Gabe stood up, pushing Jack off him and started cleaning up as Jack laughed.

Jack got up to help him clean. “Maybe that’s why I like it. I’m getting out all my secret pent up driving desires by watching other people drive.”

“Jack, if that’s what you think real driving is like, then maybe we ought to be doing everything possible to keep you off the roads,” Gabe said. He followed it with a laugh, and the sound sent a thrill to Jack’s heart.

Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe they could still make this work. Once a week, or once a month, on a Friday night, maybe they could still save this thing between them.

Whatever it was.


End file.
